


A Mask Forgotten

by Brightstone



Series: The Masks We Wear [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, What Cursed Child?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightstone/pseuds/Brightstone
Summary: Time marches on for Magical Britain. The sins of the present should remember the heroes of the past.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter
Series: The Masks We Wear [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1301984
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	A Mask Forgotten

Time, as it often does, softens painful memories and distances individuals from unpleasant situations, and so too does it seek to defang the legacies of heroes past when they no longer are the focal point of history.

Time remembers Godric Gryffindor and the founders as great educators, and not as four magical warlords who carved a bloody swath through their rivals as they sought to create a sanctuary for magical kind. That bastion became a school, and time glossed over their deeds in favor of their crowning achievement.

Time remembers Albus Dumbledore as the great martyr of the Second Blood War, struck down by treachery, instead of the careless pacifist seeking to atone for his own ill-spent youth or the warrior-mage who defeated Grindelwald.

While time was kind to Harry Potter, his distance from the spotlight following the downfall of Voldemort allowed it to do its eternal duty and caused many to move on from the fear and hysteria engendered by the Blood War. His insistence on what many would consider a menial step down for the “Great Man-Who-Conquered”, provided him with the opportunity to forever shatter the myth, and just be the man.

A pity for those who forgot that while the myth was just that, it was the man who ended the war.

ooo

Diagon Alley – July 12, 2017

Fourteen-year-old Celeste Lovegood was a curious creature to most who saw her. Tall, willowy, and showing a hint of the ethereal beauty her mother grew into, she often drew second and occasionally appreciative third glances by members of her age group. Those who were older and kinder saw her as a ray of sunshine warming the isolated magical shopping district. Those who were older and had ill intent in their hearts had but to look at her piercing emerald eyes and be reminded of who stood as her protector. It was the reckless youth, those brought up on tales of the ‘glory’ denied their mothers and fathers, that ripped the varnish from history.

Threading her way through the crowd, Celeste joyfully hummed to herself as she made her way to her destination. Halfway down the alley, she felt a slight tingling sensation on her skin as she tripped a passive ward. Biting her lip, she quickly tapped a sequence on the delicately crafted ring on her right hand as the thunderous displacement of air from sloppy apparition rang out throughout the Alley.

“Find her! The Lovegood bitch shouldn’t be too hard to spot!”

Finishing the sequence, she stood regally as the crowd dispersed in a panic. The bystanders safely away, she slowly turned to mark their positions. At least twenty black-robed wizards stood sneering at the unimpressed witch, “Well, well… Looks like the sheep have abandoned you, Blood Traitor. Nobody to save you from your well-deserved fate.”

An arched eyebrow the only sign of emotion from the witch, she drawled, “Sebastian Nott, and… what? Your Neo Death Eaters? Nu-Death Eaters? What are you calling yourselves? After all, if you don’t have a name, it’s rather difficult to make a lasting impression. You could be Nott Death Eaters! That way you would be technically telling the truth, so long as you only answer verbally. Writing rather spoils the homophone.”

Nott leaned in and sneered, “You are as mad as they say your mother is, you pitiful bastard. Does she even know whose defective seed made you?”

Of all reactions he could have anticipated, hysterical laughter was not one of them. “Who…. Who? HAHAHAHA! Oh... oh, my. You don’t… You don’t know?! I know your daddy fled to Europe after Voldemort fell, but this is ridiculous…”

Seeing the ‘Nott Death Eaters’ looking around nervously, she mocked, “Are you all from the continent? That… explains some things.” A feral grin spread across her face, “My daddy is standing right behind you.”

Rolling his eyes, Sebastian looked over his shoulder and did a double-take. In the doorway of Fortescue’s Ice Cream stood an implacable force of nature. As the man took a single step forward, a crushing pressure drove most of the wizards to their knees with a thin grasp on consciousness. Barely remaining on his feet, Nott’s wondering eyes spotted the faint outline of a lightning bolt scar on his brow. Paling, his knees gave out and his wand clattered to the floor.

A voice as grave as Death itself broke the shocked silence of the Alley, “Peanut, your mothers are on their way. Your ice cream is waiting for you at the counter. Off you pop.” He made a light shooing gesture toward the ice cream parlor, the motion incongruous with the figure of overwhelming menace the presented to the dark wizards assembled.

A light peck on the cheek later, she skipped toward the door. Pausing, she smiled at the trembling Nott, “My mother, Luna? Is the official Consort of House Potter.” Disappearing into the shoppe, her sweet voice carried as she crooned over her Never-Melt Hot Fudge Banana Sundae.

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Harry Potter, owner and operator of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Shoppe, waved his wand in a tightening spiral dragging the fallen wizards into a neat pile where a deft flick had them bound.

As Sebastian, overwhelmed by his failure and the sheer presence of Harry Potter, slowly drifted into unconsciousness, he saw a wavy-haired brunette and a willowy blonde approach. Before the darkness took him, he heard, “Ah, Minister Potter, Lady Lovegood… Always a pleasure.” It was with a burst of relief that sweet oblivion claimed him at last.


End file.
